


keeping promises

by orphan_account



Category: Reign (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, F/M, in the AU of bash becoming legitimized and francis leaving court, mostly frary but with married!mash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-30
Updated: 2014-05-30
Packaged: 2018-01-27 15:39:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1715843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Mary told Annette of her offer, a disbelieving smile spread across her  daughter's face, and she laughed. "But maman, he is only a blacksmith." [7DoF #1: Favorite Quote]</p>
            </blockquote>





	keeping promises

**Author's Note:**

> Written for 7 Days of Frary, and this is the first entry! I couldn't post it because tumblr was being silly. In any case, it's here now, in the AU where Bash was successfully legitimized and married Mary, and Mash became the next rulers of France. But this is a Frary fic, make no mistake. Enjoy! ◡‿◡✿

Annette de Valois was small enough to pass for an eight-month-old baby, but she was as healthy as could be, and Mary let a small sigh of relief escape her, too quietly for any attending servants to overhear. When the room was clear, Bash came to see her.

He held her daughter close to his chest, a small smile spreading across his face, and Mary allowed herself to hope that he would accept Annette as his own.

Bash did not disappoint; he returned the sleeping newborn to Mary and sat at her side. "She's beautiful," he told her, and Mary gave him an exhausted smile. Annette's labor was long and painful, and the strength of Annette's earlier screams gave her no doubt that her daughter would be just as stubborn as her father had been.

She swallowed hard and said, "She will be cared for here, and raised as your own?"

Bash lifted her free hand to his lips. "She is my daughter, and she will be raised as a princess of House de Valois. I promise you she will have a good future, Mary."

Mary glanced down and saw Annette staring at her, her blue eyes wide open. For a moment, Mary's eyes watered, but she blinks her tears back and dismisses the feeling to one caused by her pregnancy and not by nostalgia.

* * *

"I've heard he is a skillful lover, at the very least," Annette told Mary. Mary glanced over her daughter with a half-amused look; perhaps it had been a bad idea to allow her to befriend the servants. Seventeen years of horseback riding, coddling by both parents and corruption by the servants had turned Annette de Valois into a wild girl, one that any lord in Scotland would appreciate marrying.

But Duke Rudolf was a German, and there was no telling how happy Annette would be with him. The procession would reach Reims within two days, and after that they would return to French court... and Annette, her darling, her only remnant of Francis, would be packed off to Saxe-Lauenberg as a chess piece.

“Is that all you look for in a husband?” Mary asked, sending a glance toward the front of the progress, where Bash, Henri and Jacques rode. “What if -”

“I want what you and Papa have,” Annette interrupted, and a lump formed in the back of Mary’s throat. “Perhaps not love, but respect. I will be very happy with the Duke if he loves me as Papa loves you.” Her bright blue eyes flickered to Mary, who had to look away. Not out of guilt that she and Bash could only love each other as siblings, at most, but because in that moment Annette reminded her so much of Francis it ached to look at her.

 _It’s been seventeen years. Bury the mother and let the queen emerge._  “I hope you will be happy with him as well,” Mary replied, gathering her strength and looking at her daughter once more. “Remember to write me letters whenever you can. I want to hear all about Germany.”

Annette laughed. “Of course,  _maman_. How could I forget about my own parents?”

* * *

They arrived at Lord Pieris’s manor a day early; the afternoon was still high upon them and the Duke was not set to arrive until the next morning. Annette suggested riding, Henri wanted to meet his future subjects, and Jacques voiced aloud his wishes for a nap. Mary sent her youngest son off to sleep until dinner, accompanied by the guards and Lord Pieris’s servants, and turned to Bash.

“I think Henri had an excellent idea. We could hold court for the people of Reims. It’s not every day they have a chance to meet their rulers, after all.”

Bash stared at Henri for a long time, then nodded. He’d come a long way in time; now he no longer actively complained of his duties, but shouldered them in silence and finished them with little reluctance. Mary allowed her pride to show in her smile as Bash turned to Lord Pieris. “Spread the word that we will be holding court, and any citizens of Reims who wish may come and petition the King and Queen of France.”

Lord Pieris bowed and departed the room with his guards, leaving the royal family alone. Soon the rest of court would return from inspecting their rooms and ruin the quiet, but Mary took full advantage of it by clasping her children’s hands. “Annette, this will be rewarding for you as well,” she said. “One never knows if her husband turns out to be an oaf and it will fall into her hands to manage the estate, after all.”

Annette rolled her eyes, unamused. “I’d much rather go riding,” she muttered, but she sat when the servants bring chairs to act as makeshift thrones. Mary sat next to Bash and rested her hand on his, giving him a small smile.

“Let’s see where this goes,” Bash whispered to her, and she tried to give him her strength when she squeezed his hand. The first petitioner arrived within the hour, and thus her last day with her daughter began.

* * *

It was approaching eventide before the petitioners began to clear out - if not by choice, then by the guards, once enough time had passed. Henri and Annette had meted out their own decisions for the more minor cases, while Bash and Mary handled the more serious charges.

When the room was empty but for a few discussing villagers, Annette allowed her head to fall onto one hand, a habit she'd surely picked up from Bash. Mary narrowed her eyes, ready to remind her that she was a princess even when there were no courtiers around to see her behavior, but then Annette spotted something and sat upright.

Mary turned and saw a large, red-faced man - he wore a butcher's apron and the rag tucked into a pocket was stained with blood - half-dragging a much smaller man into the room. "Apologies, High'n'sses," he grunted, pushing his captive forward with a sneer. "I din't mean to come n' bother you with my problems, but then this here blacksmith had to come n' give me trouble."

The blacksmith turned toward the butcher. "I already told you, I will find it and _return_  it -" he said, and Mary's back stiffened just a little bit. Did she know that voice? It was changed; deeper and rougher, but somehow just as she remembered.

Bash's grip on her hand tightened, so much so that it was no longer a relaxing tether to the world, but more the bars of an iron cage for her fingers. Mary squeezed his hand, if only for the seventeen years they'd spent together, but could not keep her eyes off the man's back.

"Bah!" The butcher scoffed at the man and turned to the monarchs. Henri was listening with quiet attentiveness, and Annette was watching them in half-piqued curiosity. "High'n'sses, this blacksmith's bitch of a daughter -"

Francis - no, the blacksmith - clenched his fists and strode toward the butcher. He spun him around and balled the front of his shirt, pulling his fist back. "If you call her that _one_ more time - "

" _Enough!_ " Mary half-shouted, standing up. The blacksmith released the butcher, almost reluctantly, and stepped away. The butcher's face was redder, and his expression curdled into an angry scowl as he brushed himself off and also took another step away from his companion. Mary looked straight at the blacksmith and said -"You, with the daughter. Look at me."

The blacksmith swallowed hard and raised his head, and Mary's mouth went dry. _Francis. Francis Francis Francisfrancisfrancisfrancis._

Smithing had made his muscles larger, but seventeen years had only been a benefit to his physique. His blond hair had grown longer, long enough to be tied back with a leather band - he looked so different, yet familiar... Mary longed to go to him, greet him with a hug if nothing else. If only as a way of saying she remembered their time together, before she'd saved his life.

"What is your name?" Henri interrupted, and Francis pulled his gaze away from Mary's to stare at the prince. His expression remained unchanged, but she could see how his eyes flickered slightly over her son's face... examining him. For what? For resemblances to Bash? To  _her_?

"My name is Francis Leblanc, m'lord." Even his voice was practiced to sound common. Mary steeled her face to hide her heartbreak.

"And what is your quarrel with this man?" Henri addressed the butcher, sending his parents a curious glance before returning his attention to Francis.

Bash's warm fingers curled around her hand, and Mary gripped the side of the chair as she sat down, awaiting Francis's response. She glanced at her husband and bit the inside of her cheek - her husband was clenching his jaw and avoiding her eyes. He was jealous already, and Francis hadn't been in the room for ten minutes.

"I got me wife a pretty necklace, see? It wasn't gold or silver, but it shined in the sunlight and that was enough for her. I needed a new knife for cutting the meat, and this bastard was audacious enough to send his chit, who the whole town knows is a thief, over to deliver the knife t' me. His thief bitch stole my wife's necklace and now she won't give it back."

Francis's jaw ticked, his cheeks flushing pink, but he made no move to attack the butcher again. Mary half-listened to the butcher's story and stared at Francis, silently begging him to look at her.  _Just once._

"And what's your side of the story, monsieur?" Bash asked, and Francis lifted his head to stare at the space between the chairs, his eyes avoiding the both of them.

"My daughter has a habit of taking things she likes, whether they belong to her or not. Her mother and I have always tried to train it out of her, but it seems to be an innate need to possess things. It's always been harmless trinkets before, Your Majesty - never anything on this scale - and she's always returned whatever she took. I know it'll be the same with this, if you give her a chance."

 _Like Aylee._  Another lump that Mary had to swallow; another knot of memories she had to suppress.

"What's your daughter's name, monsieur?" Mary asked, so softly she was afraid he might not hear it over the fire. Francis clenched his jaw and looked at her for the first time, and she dug her nails into her hand to keep from leaving her chair to go to him right then.

But God, one look from him and it was like she was fifteen and exiting her carriage at court that very first day, all over again. She had hardened over seventeen years, become a second Catherine de' Medici despite all her efforts to do the opposite - and yet she was just a girl, not the Queen of anything, when she stared at him again.

 _Bury the girl and let the Queen return._  She straightened her back and pressed her lips together, running her thumb across Bash's knuckles as a way to remind herself that she was the Queen of two countries and Francis was a blacksmith. Francis's eyes darted to her hand once and returned to her face, betraying nothing.

"Marie," Francis said at last, and Bash looked away with a quiet huff. Annette looked over at him, her brow furrowing slightly, and Henri raised an eyebrow at his father's unusual lack of composure.

Mary swallowed the lump that developed in her throat ( _how arrogant are you to think he named her after you?_ ) and focused her attention on the butcher. "Thank you for bringing this to our attention, monsieur. Rest assured that your wife's necklace will be returned to you as quickly as possible. The King and I still have matters to discuss with the blacksmith - namely, the daughter." She nodded to the guards, who stepped forward and let the half-seething man out of the room, then took a deep breath and focused on her children.

"Annette, Henri, this will be your father and I's last case. If you wish, you may go outside and deal with minor cases; otherwise, prepare for dinner."

Annette curtseyed to them, and Henri offered her his arm. Annette took it with a small laugh, and together they left the room - but not before they passed by Francis. Francis's eyes widened slightly at the sight of Annette, and he turned to watch her go. When the doors shut behind the young royals, Francis turned around to face them. "Who was that?"

"I suppose you're referring to _my_ daughter?" Bash replied, with such an uncharacteristic vitriol that Mary half-flinched at his words. Francis ignored Bash and watched Mary, who acknowledged his silent question with a small bow of her head.

"I never thought I would see you again, Francis," Mary admitted, standing up and pulling away from Bash's steadying hand. She clasped her hands in front of her and walked past the windows, staring at the fading light.

"Francis? Isn't that a bit informal, Your Majesty?"

Mary swallowed again. _I will never forgive you for this_ , he'd said... and it sounded like he intended on keeping that promise. At least he knew she'd done it for him. At least he knew that. If he thought she had ruined his chance of being a good King because she had truly loved Bash, as she loved him ( _loved_? seventeen years is too much time for a queen to start thinking of love anew) then her wounds would be salted again.  _No. I cannot think of it._

"She is your Queen," Bash reminded his brother. They were  _brothers_ , and yet her husband acted as if Francis was the Antichrist himself. "She may call you whatever she wishes."

Francis bowed. "Of course, Your Majesty. I'd forgotten my place. Forgive me."

"Readily," Mary answered, turning and watching him again. "Now, this matter about your daughter... has it made business hard? Your family isn't struggling for food?"

"We aren't nobility, Your Highness. We're struggling for food every night. But... only partially because of my daughter's condition."

Mary walked back to Bash, but kept her eyes on Francis. "Our own blacksmith at the castle is old, and we're in need of new hands."

"Mary," Bash said, a warning in his tone, and Mary turned to him, swallowing hard. "I don't like where this is going."

"Please," she mouthed. The cold anger that seemed to arise in her husband overnight melted a little in his eyes, and he straightened in his seat and looked straight at Francis. Mary turned around, her hands clasped tighter, and waited for her husband to speak.

After a long moment, Bash sighed. "If you want to leave Reims for a better life, you have two options. One, you can return to court with us as our second blacksmith. God knows we need more talented hands in the smithy. That is provided that your daughter returns everything she steals and members of your family also become servants in the castle. You will be paid handsomely for your work, as the rest of the servants are, and you can live in the village with them there."

"Or, two, you can decide to move to a different part of France. We can help accommodate your move by paying for some of the fees, but that will be the extent of our aid. You will have to get on your feet by yourself."

"And, if neither of those options are pleasing to you," Mary added, allowing a smile when Francis looked at her with a questioning gaze. "Then there is a third way to start over - provided you no longer wish to remain in Reims. Should you choose, I will personally oversee that a ship is arranged to bring your family to a new start in Scotland."

"Your Highness is generous. Both of you," Francis said, with a small bow to Bash. "But... I'm not sure what to decide. I'll have to talk it over with my wife, and we'll decide from there. I'll be sure to let you know of our decision after I break my fast."

Mary blinked, unused to the small worm of jealousy that crawled through her. He mentioned having a daughter - why wouldn't he have a wife? Furthermore, why wouldn't he have other children, and have a happy life? Seventeen years was a long while; she wanted to scold herself for her behavior. But instead, she kept quiet and nodded when Francis finished speaking. "I understand. We'll await your reply in the morning."

Francis stared at her for a long moment, then dropped to one knee to bow. Bash made a move, as if he meant to raise Francis back on his feet, but he stayed in his chair, and Mary remained where she was.  _We are hard as rocks now, all of us_ , she thought as Francis rose to his feet.

"Goodbye, both of you," he said, his quiet voice somehow ringing through the room. Mary watched him as he turned to leave, bracing herself for his absence, but Francis lingered at the doors and turned his head. "And long may you reign."

With those words that brought up ghosts of the past, he slipped between the doors and disappeared.

* * *

She entered Annette's chambers that night after dinner and dismissed the servants. Annette sat in front of her mirror, watching Mary through the reflection. Mary took up the brush and sat behind her, brushing out the smooth red curls.

As Mary brushed her daughter's hair, she said, "I want you to know that your father and I will always love you. If there is anything the matter with Germany - and I mean things like war or famine or plague, not the fact that you don't like the draperies - then you are more than welcome to rejoin us at court with the Duke and any children you may have."

"I know," Annette said. "Thank you for that." She turned slightly, and Mary set down the brush.

"What is it?"

"You and Papa acted strangely when that blacksmith showed up," Annette said, and Mary looked away. "What did you end up doing to him?"

When Mary told Annette of her offer to Francis, a disbelieving smile spread across her daughter's face, and she laughed. " _Maman_ , why would you do such a thing? He's only a blacksmith. Why would you go to such lengths to save him?"

For a moment, Mary was not in the room with Annette. For a moment, she was in a small smithy in the upstairs of a different, older castle, and a smiling boy with her daughter's eyes was staring at her.  _If there ever was an uprising that would send my line into hiding, I could always get by as a blacksmith._

"Because I made a promise to him once, long ago,  _chérie_ ," Mary said, taking her hand.  _But I'd save you_  echoes in her head. "And today I finally fulfilled that promise."


End file.
